


Ficlets Collection

by Gia467



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia467/pseuds/Gia467
Summary: Posted as part of the Cobra Kai Drabbles collection originally started on Tumblr.





	1. Out of Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheEmpressAR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEmpressAR/gifts), [Jules1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules1980/gifts), [TheLadyDisdain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyDisdain/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Johnny Lawrence/Daniel LaRusso (teenaged!)
> 
> Summary: Johnny takes Daniel to the country club, and it goes how you might expect. Requested by: TheEmpressAR.  
> Prompt: "I'm Right Where I Belong."

 

 

Out of Place

“You alright?”

Daniel nodded, albeit hesitant. He was nervous. “Yeah, m’fine.”

He clears his throat. “I’m fine.” He corrects himself. Such a small difference, but immediately noticeable.

Johnny looks down at his boyfriends hands, tightly together and fighting the urge to bring one up to his mouth, to bite his nails. It had always been a habit.

“Come on,” His hand remains on his lower back, leading him towards the table and sitting him down between him and Laura. He wanted him to feel safe, and there was no safer place than between them, as far as he was concerned.

“Hi, Daniel.” Laura smiled, noticing him becoming slightly fidgety under the gaze of surrounding guests.

“Hi… Mrs Lawrence.” He usually called her Laura, but for some reason it felt wrong here.

She gestures gently to him. “You look lovely, very nicely dressed.”

His eyes flicker down to his tableware. Maybe she was lying. She had to be. He wasn’t in a suit jacket and nice, pressed pants like Johnny. A dark blazer and some khaki trousers were the nicest he’d got. No jewelry or wrist watch like Johnny, either. His gold watch was a perfect match to the clip on his black tie.

Mrs. Lawrence always wore diamonds in her ears. Long, narrow strips of glittery lines that Daniel knew to be real because of how they refracted the light.

He looked down at his cheaply made, fake leather loafers.

He smiles anyway. No need to be under dressed and without manners. “Thank you, you look really pretty.”

“Why thank you. You two look just cute like this, all dressed up.”

Slowly, he lets out a breath when Johnny takes his hand under the table. For them it wasn’t just where Daniel was from or how he talked, it was them being together in general, that made it that much worse.

Johnny had never seen him so nervous. He’d been gnawing at his lip the whole time, and Johnny had to occasionally stop him before he inevitably made himself bleed.

Evidently, one of Sid’s friends kept side-eyeing him at the table as they talked, and Johnny just hoped he’d keep his mouth shut.

But as per usual, luck wasn’t on his side.

“It’s nice to see you, John. Sid tells me you’ve been accepted to Princeton. That’s a fine school, son. You should be proud.”

Johnny nods, smiling. “Yes, thank you.”

“And what are  you going for?”

“Economics and Business.”

“Excellent, carrying on with Lormiar, are you?”

Daniel eyes them both, back and forth as Johnny makes polite conversation, evidently none too enthused.

“This is Daniel.”

Daniel blinks himself back to earth.

“Sorry?”

He looks at the man, mild confusion on his face.

“Where are you attending college in the fall?” He asks.

Daniel utterly blanks. “Um, I– I actually haven’t gotten that far yet.”

In his nervous state, the accent was noticeable.

“Are you not going to college?”

Daniel is quick to correct him. “Oh no, it’s not like I ain’t going at all, I just didn’t know what I wanted to do yet, is all…” His words sound clumsy, awkwardly said, and it’s clear from the man’s expression that it’s not at all well-received.

Daniel’s eyes go back to his plate.

“Ah, I see.”

Johnny can feel him tense up. Under the table, his hand is squeezed.

“Well, I hope you’re not planning on majoring in English.”

There’s a chuckle, and Laura scowls, crossing her arms. “Actually, he’s looking to teach English as a second language, overseas.” She turns to him. “Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

He nods, a bit dumbly.

She continues. “It’s a very fulfilling position. No need to go to school for years, either. It’ll be much more useful. In high demand, too.”

Johnny internally winces. His mother had good intentions, but she may have just inadvertently made things a whole lot worse for him.

“No college education, and teaching English? No wonder these people don’t know how to speak when they come over here.”

He addresses Daniel again, leaning in a little closer. “Perhaps a trade would suit you better, young man.”

Now Daniel scowls, meeting the man’s eyes. “I can speak English just fine, ya know. Having a little accent  _ain’t_ a problem.”

The man straightens a little. “Well, I’d encourage you not to use that kind of vocabulary in proper settings. It’s not very nice to listen to.”

Daniel opens his mouth, and Laura’s wine glass comes down a bit hard.

“Bill, really can you leave him alone? He speaks fine. Sheryl is from Brooklyn, you’re never on her case, and she doesn’t so much speak the language as she chews it up and spits it out.”

“He’s talking like a hood, Laura. He can’t speak proper English and he wants to teach it?”

One of Daniel’s hands goes to his mouth, gnawing away at one of his nails. Johnny is glowering.

“He is _not_  talking like a  _hood.”_

“Well, he can at least look at me when I’m speaking to him. John, you should consider the friends you keep. What happened to that nice boy, what was his name, Robert?”

“ _Bobby_ , he goes by  _Bobby. W_ hy do you refuse to call him that?”

Johnny’s hand tightens around his. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Daniel is my boyfri–”

Daniel stands, effectively cutting Johnny off with the clanking of silverware and the spilling of Laura’s too-full water glass, another thing that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I need some air.”

Bill rolls his eyes, dabbing at the tablecloth with his cloth napkin. “Try not to cause a complete disaster on your way out.”

Daniel’s cheeks get pink, embarrassment mixed with a barely concealed temper, and turns and heads out the nearest exit from the hall, Johnny quick on his trail.

By the time Johnny reaches him, he’s at his car with his head bowed. One hand holding onto the door, another at his face.

Johnny approaches slowly, but Daniel can hear the gravel beneath his feet.

“Daniel?”

He doesn’t look up. “This was a horrible idea.”

“I’m sorry–”

“It ain’t your fault.. Look at me, I  shouldn't’ve bothered, this was doomed from the start.”

“Daniel, don’t say that…”  He steps closer, but Daniel flinches away when he goes to remove his arm from his face, an audible sniffle making its way to Johnny’s ears.

Johnny immediately drops his hand, shoulders slumping.

He pauses a minute, standing beside him in lieu of anything comforting to say, until the urge to hug him shakes him out of his stillness.

“Please don’t cry, its okay, I’ll tell my mom we’re going home and we can just spend the night together like we were planning to, we can get out of these stupid clothes and go to the beach or something.”

Daniel’s face goes to his chest, involuntarily wiping his nose across Johnny’s collar. “M’sorry…”

Johnny shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. He was insulting you, that was awful.”

He holds him, one hand in his hair and one on his back, rubbing soothing circles and Daniels sniffles wind down. Daniel pulls back, still looking a little wet under the eyes. Johnny places both hands gently on his face, wiping under his eye.

“Well, now I have an excuse to never return there ever again.”

Daniel pouts. “I’ve ruined it for you.”

“Hardly, I hated going there anyway, you’ve given me a reason to refuse it.”

Daniel doesn’t smile, voice taking on a flat, depressed tone. “This’ll probably happen again.”

“I’m not taking you here again, I told you–”

“I don’t just mean here Johnny. I don’t belong anywhere like this with you. Anywhere that requires a dress code or any of the nice places your mom likes to go, like the country club or a art gallery. I couldn’t even make it through a stupid dinner… I don’t belong anywhere you go.”

Now embarrassed of his emotional state, he lowers his head again in attempt to conceal his face, but Johnny doesn’t let him hide for very long.

“That’s ridiculous, you can’t let one prick dictate where I take you from now on. I have lots of places I want to take you.” Johnny let’s out a breath. “I really like you, there isn’t much anyone can do about that, except you, if you want. And even then, I’ll probably try to convince you otherwise…”

Daniel leans heavily against his chest, gaze shifting from one eye to the other. “I don’t want.” He shakes his head. “I mean… I _like_  you, of course I still want you.. gah, I can’t even speak-”

Johnny leans in closer. Daniel stops talking and tilts his head, but there is no kiss, only words.

“Please repeat after me.”

Daniel blinks. “Why?”

“Because. Just do it.”

“Fine.”

“I am right where I belong.”

Silence.

“Do it, say it.”

Daniel sighs, repeats, and stares at Johnny, deadpan and unconvincing. Johnny rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on.”

“This is useless.”

“No it’s not–”

“This isn’t going to change anything. I still stand out! I’m not  _you,_  I’m not  _like you,_ get it?”

For a moment, Johnny’s expression falls at Daniel’s outburst, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Yes, but that’s why  _I_  like you… I don’t need someone to parade around and be some kind of status symbol,  _get it?”_

His hands have slipped from his face and down to his neck, and he gently guides his head forwards again as he places a small kiss to his mouth.

“I like you a lot, I really do. Anywhere I bring you, you have every right to be there. You belong where I go just as I belong where you go. If anyone wishes to say you don’t belong anywhere with e than I don’ wanna be there no more.” He looks pointedly at him, hoping he gets it, somehow. He leans in again, and any chance of Daniel spewing out an argument is effectively silenced.

When they pull back Daniel is smiling a little, looking genuinely happier than he had the whole night. They stand there, taking each other in, looking up at the night sky.

“Can you repeat that now, and mean it?”

“You proved your point, must I–”

“Yes, because it will make me happy.”

Daniel looks up to the stars again, feeling very silly.

“And look at me while you say it.” He adds. 

Daniel’s hands go to Johnny’s face, mimicking his previous movements. Johnny’s eyes are a beautiful blue. They look just right on him.

“I am right where I belong.” 

One corner of Johnny’s mouth curls up. “Where do you belong?”

“Anywhere with you.”

Johnny grins, and another kiss is pressed to Daniel’s nose.

“That’s right.”


	2. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Miguel Diaz/Robby Keene.  
> Requested by: Jules1980 (curiousdamage)  
> Prompt: "I'll keep you warm."   
> Warnings: None. 
> 
> Robby is impulsive, and Miguel is cold.

Warnings: None. College-AU.

* * *

                                                                                          

In Bloom

The pathway there is muscle memory, the dips in the road are a familiar feeling and all the isolated side streets are a rather comforting sight for Miguel. By the time he makes his way through the gate, the rain is hitting hard, soaking through everything that’s not covered up and making big puddles in the sides of the roads.

He opens the house door, his usual wavy hair weighed down by the water and his clothes sticking uncomfortably close to his skin; his hoodie didn’t stand a chance against the onslaught.

He sighs, shaking himself out and sending droplets scattering. Miguel looks around before his eyes land on Robby, curled up on a small sofa, face buried in a book. The house had become somewhat of a retreat to them both in the recent year. Mr. Larusso had made it more like a second home for Robby and less of an actual shrine to karate..

“Hey.” He says, head tilting up in that friendly way.

Robby doesn’t recall when the two of them had started doing that. Maybe it was when he and Sam had become friends again and Robby had been seeing him around more and more at the LaRussos’. Maybe it was when Sam gave Miguel a key to her father’s dojo because she trusted him and he’d always do her favors. Or maybe it was when Miguel had started greeting him with a smile and a little wave of his hand, and Robby had realized that friendliness was an inevitable option.

“Hi.” His head goes back down, to his book.

The rain pours down in the valley, hard on the roof. The house is quiet, and sudden a crash of thunder nearly makes Robby jolt in place. God, the valley didn’t rain often but when it did, it goddamn poured. He was half-worried it would seep through the roof. It had been like this all day. Spring was here with a very obvious announcement.

The loud thunderclap certainly makes Miguel jump, though.

Robby wonders, is he here for Sam?

“She’s not here. Her and Amanda went out to lunch with Lucille.” He doesn’t bother to look up when he says it.

“Oh.”

This isn’t the first time Miguel had turned up here looking for Sam when she was off doing whatever, but it’s the first time he’s stayed, milling around for no apparent reason. He figured he wasn’t about to face 20 or-so more minutes in the rain just to get back home.

He looks up again, just over the pages. Miguel is dripping on the floor mats, bag slung over one shoulder. Maybe he’s just here to get out of the rain. Nearly 19 now and he still doesn’t have a car. He’d been visiting Samantha on his reading break from school, still evidently riding his bike everywhere. He’s grown a little maybe, a bit taller now. Or maybe it was just the distance; people always look different when they’ve been away awhile. Miguel does look different, with his hair a noticeably longer and the space under his eyes a little darker, maybe from all that lack of sleep that was customary in college.

Miguel slumps down onto the floor, and Robby cant help but notice the slight tremor in his movements. He’s shivering. The dojo wasn’t exactly warm, with little ways of heat and any real insulation. Robby put the magazine down.

“Um, do you want a towel or something? I can get one from the bathroom.”

Miguel looks down at himself. “Sure, thanks.”

He walks past him into the small bathroom, and pulls a towel from the rack on the door. When he comes back, Miguel has taken off his hoodie, standing there in his equally soaked t-shirt and jeans.

“Here,” Robby hands it to him, looking him over. “Jeeze, you’re soaking wet.”

“Yeah, the rain is ridiculous. Some start to spring, huh? Can’t believe it, last year we couldn’t even turn on our sprinklers.”

"I think nature is trying to make up for it all at once."

Miguel laughs, and Robby notices that his braces are gone, leaving a smile that could drown out the California sunshine. Just so _happy._

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” It’s half-mumbled, Robby still too caught up in … other things. Miguel towels off his hair, damp curls falling over his forehead. His clothes are still pretty wet, and he’s unsuccessfully to dry himself.

There is a moment, just a small one, where two look at each other. They’re somewhat close to one another, no more than arms length and Miguel takes time to look at Robby’s hair, now shorter than he remembers.

“You cut your hair,” He says. “It’s a lot shorter.”

Robby nods, hand absentmindedly going to the ends, fingers running along the (lack of) length, no longer dusting the back of his neck and instead brushing the tops of his ears.

“Yeah…I wanted a change.”

“Change is good.” Miguel replies, almost too quickly.

“Is that your way of saying it looks good on me?”  

Robby had smiled when he said it, like he was saying it as more of a joke anyway, but Miguel nods genuinely.

“Yeah it does… looks really good like that.”

Robby looks down a moment, somewhat flustered. “Uh, thanks… I’m glad it wasn’t a mistake.”

Miguel smiles brightly, and Robby’s stomach sprouts butterflies that make their way up to his chest.

“Definitely not a mistake.”

Robby reciprocates the smile.  _Were his eyes always so gentle looking? So friendly and downright affectionate? He never remembered those big brown eyes being so… warm._

His slightly open lips are trembling, teeth chattering still. He’s shivering under his damp towel.

“You cold still?”

Miguel looks down. “Yeah uh, I’m sure I’ll warm up eventually. I’ve just got a chill, I guess.”

Robby looks to the sofa-bed, to the throw blanket draped over the side. “Uh, hold on. Gimme that.” He motions to the towel over his shoulders, and Miguel unwraps himself and places it in Robby’s outstretched hand, where he throws it over to the sofa and replaces it with the blanket.

“Here, this’ll be warmer.”

Maybe if Robby was a little less impulsive, a little less intoxicated by those big, dark eyes, and a little more reserved in his urge to touch him, maybe he would’ve just handed it to him. He wouldn’t have stepped even closer, and draped it over his shoulders.

He wouldn’t have still held the ends together when Miguel’s hands came up to join his. He wouldn’t have looked at him as long as he did.

And he definitely wouldn’t have let those hands squeeze his, wouldn’t have let Miguel come so close that they practically brushed noses as he let Robby wrap his arms around him.

But he’s never been good at impulse control, and when Miguel doesn’t move from his arms even after he’s stopped shaking, he doesn’t pull away.

Miguel breathes in deeply, Robby feeling his chest rise and fall, Miguel’s hair still damp on his shoulder as they stand together, the storm going strong outside while Robby’s hands slide up and down Miguel’s back.

Robby’s mouth is at his ear. “Still cold?”

“A little.” Miguel’s nose goes to his neck.

_Well, that’s a good enough excuse as any._

Robby smiles and the butterflies settle down in his stomach, a warmth blooming in his chest where Miguel leans into him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.”


	3. I Can't Believe You've Done This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate of the previous prompt. "I'll keep you warm."
> 
> Robby is not amused at Miguel's shenanigans with the balance pond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Miguel/Robby  
> Warnings: Some suggestive content mentioned.

I Can't Believe You've Done This

 

Miguel is trembling, shaking so hard Robby has to tighten his arms around him. “I’m so cold…”

He’s soaking wet, the cold water seeping into Robby’s own, once dry clothes. “I told you it was a dumb idea. I knew you’d fall. You can’t stick a landing on the balance wheel, it’s unstable.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, hindsight.”

“I warned you before!”

Miguel half-shrugs, coming off more like a twitch thanks to the tremors. “You could’ve done more to stop me.”

“You’re so stubborn, you know that? I had zero chance of stopping anything the minute the idea made its way into your head.”

Robby rests his chin on Miguel’s sodden hair, one hand around his shoulders and the other against the nape of his neck, holding his as close as he could get.

Miguel makes a dissatisfied noise. “Still cold.”

“Yeah well, you’re making me cold. You’re dripping wet.”

Above his head, Robby’s voice mimics him. “I”m Miguel, can do flips on my board, I’ll be fine… now watch while I make an example of natural selection.”

Miguel scowls, pouting. “Are your insults supposed to keep me warm?” He’s still shivering, clinging to Robby like he’s still in the water. Miguel had all but pulled Robby down with him, with the koi fish swimming around his kicking feet, trying to get himself out once he had inevitably fallen off the balance wheel and into the pond.

Robby’s mouth forms a line. “No, but I imagine would be a lot smarter to take _off_ the wet clothes, instead of soaking mine.”

Miguel pops his head up, face to face with him now. “Oh, is that your method?” He smiles impishly. “Alright, that’s better than sitting here freezing, I guess, I’ll take it.”

Robby’s face gets red, Miguel’s smile coaxing out a soft laugh. “Not what I meant… but sure, I’ll keep you warm the cliché way.”

“In the sun.” Miguel adds. “Extra warmth.”

Robby scoffs. “If that’s your plan, outside is a no-go.” In fact, this entire property is a no-go. I train here, and so do you two days out of the week, we aren’t defiling it.”

Miguel pouts, poking him in the arm. “Defiling? You call cuddling in the sun defiling?”

Robby looks at him pointedly. “When you have no clothes on, it’s not called cuddling anymore.”


	4. Mama Said I Could!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa could swear she just left him for a second.  
> Now there's paint all over his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Miguel and Rosa Diaz.  
> Requested by The EmpressAR.  
> Prompt: "You look like you need a hug."  
> Young!Miguel Universe.  
> Warnings: Bad written Spanish.

Mama Said I Could!

 

 

 

 

“Dios mío! Cariño, ¿qué has hecho?” 

There is paint, goddamn everywhere. Carmen’s nice oil paints. 

“Miguel…” 

“What?”

“Miguel, esto es un desastre… Tu mamá vendrá pronto a casa. ¿Por qué has hecho todo este desorden?” She looks around.  At him, at the paint covering the floor, the table, and his clothes and, even some in his hair. This will be a pain to clean. And Carmen will be home any moment! What is she to say! Say she got caught up watching reruns of  _Yo soy Betty, la fea_? 

Ugh, why did she leave him alone? You should be able to trust an 8-year old! Now what? How did he even accomplish this in so little time?

“I’ll clean it, no te preocupes.” He says, nonchalant. Without a care in the world. “Mama said I could use them.”

Rosa shakes her head. To paint with brushes, she tells him. With brushes, carefully!

“Ahora ¿qué voy a hacer contigo?” She sends him a look that was supposed to be stern, but probably failed to register that way by the look of utter defeat in her eyes. Her fingers go to the bridge of her nose, rubbing away the tension that is successfully keeping her from thinking of a quick solution. “¿Qué voy de decirle a su madre…?” 

She looks at him again. For a moment, nobody does anything, and Miguel only smiles.

“Hug!”

“Hmm?”

His smile grows. “You look like you need a hug.” 

He stands, and Rosa puts her hands up. "No!”

Closer. 

“No, no, no… Miguel, No venga, quédese ahí…” 

Nope, no use. He runs over, wrapping his paint-covered arms around her waist and successfully merging the lovely oil paint with her dress. A lovely smear of bright colours are now encircling her, a homage to Jackson Pollock on her hips. 

“Miguel!”

“Hug!” 

“Aye yai yai…” She pats his head, the paint smearing into her fingertips. The damage is already done, no harm in it now. “Que ambas estamos en problemas.”

 


	5. Wiretapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Carmen/Johnny. Requested by The EmpressAR. Prompt: "What's cookin', good lookin?" 
> 
> A curious phone call and some extra ears.  
> An 'only possible in the 80-90's AU'. Let's just pretend that landlines are still cool, yeah?  
> Warnings: Stupidity and sillyness.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s a phrase.”

“For what?”

“Uh, supposed to be a way to ask what you’re doing later, but it’s supposed to be… flirty.”

Carmen laughs in a cutesy way. “Oh… well, I am cooking… you wanna come over for dinner?”

“Sure… what’re we eating?”

“Arroz con pollo, you like it, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember…”

“And…”  Pause. 

_“And?”_

“If you want, maybe some, dessert?”

“You’re gonna fatten me. What kinda sensei has a gut?”

Another small giggle. “Not that kind of dessert.”

Another pause.

“Oh… in that case, can’t say no to that.” 

“Mhm… Besides, you’re in great shape.” 

An audible click sound, and a much lower, hushed voice.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t hear you.”

I didn’t say anything…” 

Then, someone  _sneezes._

“Bless you.” 

“Wasn’t me, babe.” 

“Robby!” 

 _“Robby?”_  Johnny sounds like he chokes on something. 

“Miguel you idiot, hang up!” Robby’s voice is on the other end, and Carmen’s voice sounds far away for a few seconds.

“Miguel, were you listening!?”

“No!” His voice echoes, and clearly he isn’t far from Carmen. 

“Yes he was!” Robby’s yelling right into everyone’s ears. “This was his idea!”

Johnny is louder still.  _“Quiet!”_

“Ouch, dad.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Between the Lawrence boys, one can barely hear Carmen yelling in the hallway. 

“Miggy! Get off the phone I swear to god! Open your door, I’m taking that thing away!” 

_Click._

_Click._

“Did they leave?”

…

“Carmen?”

“I’m here.” Voice clearer now, Johnny can hear her sigh. “I can’t believe them… how much did they hear!”

Johnny clears his throat. “Uh…” 

….

“Do you still want to come for dinner? There will be plenty of food since I’m locking Miggy in his room.”

“Why don’t you bring the food here? Robby just left out his bedroom window, so I’ll lock the doors.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll be right over, just gotta take it off the stove… I’ll see you in a few.”

“I’ll set the table…you want a drink with your dinner?”

“Got any wine?”

“I’ve got some bottled sangria.”

A small intake of air. “Good enough. I’ll be right there.”

“Alright.” 

Click.

Click.

Pause. Click. 

From his room, Miguel can hear Rosa laughing.


	6. Haste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by The EmpressAR. Prompt: "Thanks, for everything."  
> Pairings: None.  
> Miguel confesses something important to Johnny.  
> Warnings: None. 
> 
> Note: This is supposed to be part of my universe for 'Who Is Like God?' You don't need to read it for this to make sense, but it might help.  
> This is also kinda for stephluvvsyou, too. Shoutout.

_“Sensei?”_

It’s a familiar sight as Miguel lingers in the door, and Johnny waves him in. 

“What’s up, Diaz?” 

Miguel always pauses before he asks him something, or tells him something. He always does it, like he doesn’t think of what to say beforehand. Johnny always pegged the kid as someone who rehearses what they say, but maybe not. 

He looks him over. “You getting sick?”  

Diaz shakes his head, albeit weakly like it hurts him to even do it. To say the kid looked a little worse for wear would be an understatement. Johnny didn’t mean it in a rude way, but the kid looked like he did after days with no real sleep and way too much beer. 

“Um, I just wanted to talk to you. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course it’s alright.”

_When has it not been alright?_

“You sure you’re feelin’ okay? I think I’ve got some advil under the counter here…” He’s about to reach into his desk but Miguel stops him, coming right up to where he’s sitting. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m okay, just tired. I wanted to um, to tell you something, cause it’s been weighing on my mind... I’ve just gotta tell you, okay?” 

Johnny’s brow creases. Is he about to confess something?  _Profess_  something?

He almost wanted to say ‘spit it out’, but the kid’s expression seems so dire, so serious, that haste would feel inappropriate, even flat up rude. 

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done, with training and just, _everything._ When you stood up for me and, when you taught me karate and everything got messed up but you still pulled through and stuck with me, with _us…”_  

He nearly chokes on his words. “You know I didn’t know my dad, so it meant a lot when you were there to help me, and talk to me, and–” 

Johnny doesn’t know if it’s still the throes of pubescent hormones or the quasi-deathbed speech that’s making the kid’s voice screw up so bad, but when he sees tears down his face, brimming over the bottoms of his eyes, he stops him, mid sentence.

 “Diaz–” 

He keeps rambling. “And I know this is gonna sound stupid and I’m sorry for the mushy bullshit, but–”

“Diaz!” 

“I just–” 

“ _Quiet_ , Miguel!” 

In an instant, Miguel shuts up. Swallows his remaining words like something too large for his throat. Johnny can tell that he’s dying to finish what he was saying, but Johnny still in the process of wondering  _why_ , why on earth the kid is spilling these feelings out of nowhere. For a second, Johnny throws away the idea of no jokes. 

“You dying or something?” 

He smiles, but Miguel doesn’t. Just stands there with his tense shoulders and tears still spilling over. He sniffs. Looks down at his shoes. 

“Look, sorry... it’s just, are you _okay?”_

Miguel looks back up, and Johnny almost finds it hard to keep up eye contact. Actually, he finds it  _very hard_  to keep eye contact with the kid, who’s getting more teared up by the minute.

“You alright?” He repeats.  

Miguel nods, having another stare down with his tennis shoes for a few seconds. Johnny can hear him breathe in; a shaky, laboured sound before he looks back up. “Sorry, I just– I need to say it.” 

But Johnny is still lost with the reason of it all. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you, It’s not important, _right now._ I just have a few things to say, so can you please listen?” His voice doesn’t waver this time. “Please?” 

Johnny nods, his back curving against his chair as he leans into it. “Yeah, I’ll listen.” 

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Johnny notices how his fingers trail the hem of his gi, probably one of the first significant things Miguel had mentally filed away as important enough to warrant a dramatic thank you. “You didn’t have to stick up for me in front of Kyler and those two idiots and land yourself in jail, and you didn’t have to teach me karate after that, or help me with girls when I asked you about it… you didn’t have to do it. But you  _did.._. and that means a lot to me, more than you know.”

Johnny doesn’t know what to say. He’d all but spilled his guts to him that day in the diner, but Miguel never rambled on too much about personal stuff. He’s always a bit vague with a little bit of information at a time. Never like this, outpouring, raw thoughts. 

Diaz is flat-up crying in his office. 

That’s another thing. Never tears, either. Not really. He always hides those the best he can. Now, he’s hardly bothering to wipe them away, dripping down his face, giving the whites of his eyes a watery, red tint. 

Not that it really mattered that he was crying. That wasn’t the issue here. 

Johnny just hated to see him so inconsolably upset like this, like the words were painful to say, like he was forcing out every single word in some bitter, desperate attempt. 

His chest rises and falls noticeably, there’s a little hiccup in the back of his throat. 

“Look, I’m sorry for all this, but I just don’t have the time to just not say it, I wanna say it, and I really don’t have the time to be screwing around with how I feel about people…”

Johnny’s thoughts go somewhere else for a minute while Tommy’s words replay themselves in his head. But here, it hardly seemed like it fit. Kids had time. Tommy was older, and he still should’ve had more time. Kids had all the time in the world, right? They should.

What was stopping Miguel Diaz from having time?

“– love you.”

Johnny snaps back, the last sentence in fragments. He pauses, mouth a little slack. 

“Sensei?”

“I-I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Miguel suddenly looks wary. “You didn’t hear me or, you didn’t wanna hear me?”

Johnny shakes his head. “No I just... I didn’t catch that, I spaced out.” Miguel’s eyes get sadder, somehow. His whole frame deflates a little as Johnny rushes to correct himself. “Not that I don’t wanna hear it, I just... fuck, sorry–”

“I said I love you.” Miguel stands in front of his desk, shoulders squared. 

In the absence of Johnny’s words, he continues. 

“And I wanted to say thank you, for everything, because I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He takes the time to bring a hand to his face again, wiping the tears away, and this time, Johnny can see the slightest smile on his face.

“Even if I met my dad, if he actually was in my life for the first time and did everything a father is supposed to do, I don’t think he’d ever be able to compare to you.” 


	7. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to my vampire AU story. Daniel talks about a person from his past.
> 
> Pairing: Daniel/Johnny (young adult Johnny, “19″ year old Daniel). Part of the Vampire!Daniel AU for All the Animals.   
> Prompt: “Come cuddle.” for MissVioletHunter.  
> Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/predatory person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Daniel’s English is supposed to be a little bad. This is Italy after all, and he’s never lived outside the Mediterranean/Levant.

“C’mere.” 

Johnny turns around. 

There he lays, in all his still-mysterious glory, beckoning Johnny with the slight movements of his hand. 

“Come,  _cuddle_  with me…” The word sounds so foreign on his tongue, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of his vocabulary or because he knows he hasn’t done this in a very long time. What’s it like to be without touch for so long that you forget how it sounds to ask for it? 

He gives in, and comes to lay down beside him on the bed. The springs creak under his weight and the mattress is flat and much less comfortable than one he has back at home. Even the one back at his hostel is better than this, but as cliche as it sounds, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

Johnny never felt like this just sitting by someone before. Usually his heart is racing and he’s anticipating a kiss or a wandering hand, anything that might lead to something else and make his heart pound in his chest… but not now. He just felt calm. Not even the slightest of palpitations when Daniel’s hand is suddenly on his head, caressing his hair out of his eyes and ghosting the slightest of touches over his temples. Johnny takes in air deeply, his chest briefly pressing against the other’s.

Daniel scoots a little closer, and their noses touch. “I like you.” 

“I’ve liked you since I met you.” 

“Truthful?” 

“Yes,” He reciprocates Daniel’s earlier actions, brushing the long, dark hair out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“Good.” 

Johnny looks over his body. He’s got a t-shirt on today, the tanned skin of his arms exposed; the veins where other people’s blood flows, barely visible on the underside through the skin, the same arms that could snap his neck with no effort. Delicate looking hands that could tear him apart, but instead choose to rest on his ribs and caress his hair, like a lover. 

He breathes, that unique scent of him a familiar and comforting smell. “You make me happy.” 

Daniel smiles, eyes squinting a little. “You make me happy, too… I'm happy I speak to you, when I did.” 

Johnny smiled, a somewhat amusing thought running through his head. “I’m glad you didn’t eat me… or are planning to eat me.” 

Daniel looks down a moment. “You were too nice.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’d feel badly.” 

There’s a moment of silence while Johnny contemplates this. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Yes.” 

Johnny looks away a moment. “Do you ever feel bad about it? Like, do you regret it?” 

Maybe this was wrong to ask. Maybe he’d get upset. Maybe–

“Sometimes.” He says it quietly. “I never enjoy doing it, if that is what you meant… I do it because I must.” 

“I know.” 

“If people must kill the animals to eat them, they never want to eat them again… I don’t have that option.” 

Johnny keeps his gaze over Daniel’s shoulder, suddenly feeling stupid. “Sorry, I shouldn't’ve asked.” 

“Not the first to ask.” He sighs, and it looks natural despite Johnny seeing him breathe maybe a total of three separate times. “First few time, I cried. Then I tried to have any others to do it for me… I could wait while they went out and got it… that only worked one time, one man did it no matter how much I ask for it.”

_“Oh?”_

 Johnny’s curious now. Was he a husband? A partner? A friend? A serial killer who thought he had a decent arrangement with it? 

Daniel laughs a bit. “I look so small. He thought I was a kid, only fifteen, and I let him believe it. He really like me… he did look at me a little strange when he meet me.”

Johnny swallows. “The friend of yours?” He’d heard about him once or twice before. 

“Yeah. Before, I live with him in Craiova, in the country... good for what we were doing.” He frowns a little. “He was so strange… wanted for us to share a bed. If he went out, he ask to be close with me, like us now… I always say no since I don't like him that way, how I like you, he was never pretty like you.”

He smiles again, looking at Johnny straight on. “Not like you, so pretty.” 

Despite the compliment, Johnny’s confusion deepens. “What do you mean? I mean, he liked you like, I do?”

His eyes shift away for a moment, before landing back. “I think… more. Different way,  maybe. He was older than you, a lot. Eventually he stopped asking to share a bed when I slept on the floor, then he bought one other.” 

Johnny could feel the abrupt change in his own expression. He’s heard bits of this before, about the person he’d lived with before this, a while ago back when Johnny would’ve been only three.  _But_ , never the cuddling part, or the bed part. Just that he’d liked him. Johnny always thought it was just taboo to love another man back then, and that’s why Daniel thought it odd. He wasn’t even sure Daniel liked any men before him. He never asked the man’s age, but now it made more sense. 

“But he went out anyway, and I always knew he’d ask again, so every once in a while to get him quiet I’d walk around the house after a bath before I put my clothes on again, that usually kept him quiet for a while.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything. His words have been swallowed up by his shock. 

“It was odd.” Daniel repeats. “A while of doing this, he got older… sicker. After he died, I had to go out alone. I move here because I missed it. I don’t like Romania too much, I like here.” 

It’s quiet again, until Johnny finally finds his words. 

“I'm… sorry about that.” 

Daniel only shrugs. “It's alright, doesn't matter no more.”

During Daniel’s talk, Johnny had unconsciously shifted further away. He inched closer until his nose was touching his again, and flipped them around a bit until the other’s head was resting on his chest. Maybe Daniel doesn’t think much of it anymore, or maybe he never did. But in the case that he did, Johnny wanted to help him feel safe, and even if he could already defend himself beyond anything he could do, he could at least make him feel secure. Like nothing would ever hurt him, regardless. 

Daniel relaxes into him then, motionless chest on top of Johnny’s own, his body elevated slightly with each breath and his eyes closed, listening to Johnny’s heartbeat.


	8. The Warmth of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robby thinks that blue might be the most expressive colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Robby Keene/Eli 'Hawk' Moskowitz  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: cutesy, syrupy, fluff.   
> Prompt: "Trust me."  
> Made for: TheEmpressAR

Robby stands behind Hawk, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he washes the remainder of dye off his hands into the sink, deeply blue tinted water running down the drain and splattering on the porcelain. He never wore gloves, and last time it stained his hands for two days.

Hawk’s eyes flicker up, looking at him through the mirror, eyeing the small part of his hair that Robby had (reluctantly) allowed him to bleach.

“You look worried.”

Robby shrugs.

“Trust me, it’ll be awesome.”

“But I don’t have… your type of haircut, this is gonna look stupid.” Robby glances at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair, watching it fall back into place.

“Live a little, man. It’s not permanent or anything.”

“Yeah, but isn’t blue dye is hard to get out?” Robby counters.

Hawk shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t tried to actually fade it yet.” His hair hangs in his eyes a bit, the messy shag of hair freshly coloured and still wet, dripping blue streaks down his neck in the residual water.

“Come on, just try it,” Hawk smirks. “We’ll match.”

Robby smiles a little at the idea. “I feel like this is a subtle way to marking me as your property–” A sudden nose makes its way to his neck, and forming words are cut off.

“Ouh, you’ve figured me out… you’ve got me.” Robby squints his eyes shut to prevent getting wet hair in his eyes. “Well, what if I am?”

Robby smiles again, for the umpteenth time in that short hour, feeling little kisses on his face. If he was being honest, he didn’t mind it at all. He definitely didn’t loathe the idea that someone liked him so much he’d be marked for association. Almost like a love letter he wore everywhere. A continuous reminder of someone’s affection.

Their eyes catch one another’s in the mirror again. Eli’s blue eyes matched his (even more blue) hair, the rather dazzling colour made even more so by the shade that framed his face. He liked it. He liked how blue was slowly leaking into different aspects of his life. How it went from just another colour to a reminder of something sweet, something that made him feel giddy to see. He liked seeing his eyes and all the love and affection they held when he looked at him.

Robby was starting to get a real fondness of blue.


	9. Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rehash of the pool training scene from S1, only with Kreese in Johnny's place. An AU of no Johnny, just Kreese. 
> 
> Pairings: None  
> Prompt: "Don't be afraid."  
> Warnings: features a minor in genuine fear for their life, and some distressing language.

 

He was shivering, his sensei holding his struggling body up by the hair. 

_I don't want to drown. Please don't let me go under._

“You wanna be stronger don't you?"

“Yes, sensei!" 

“Then kick! Use your feet!”

His head only rose above surface for a few seconds each time, with each succeeding attempt spent more time water the water. His movements couldn't hold himself up too long, just enough to choke a little more on the bitter taste each time his energy faltered. He couldn't breathe fast enough, or well enough, to keep up.

“I'm trying, I don't–" another mouthful; more coughing that felt useless. “–Don't know how!"

Miguel submerged again, bubbles breaking up the surface of the water, until Kreese grabbed hold of his shirt front and tugged. Miguel's face was above the surface again but just barely, coughing all the liquid up and out of his lungs until it ran down his chin.

“I'm drowning, I'm gonna drown...” He could barely get the words out.

“Do you _want_ to drown?”

He shook his head, or tries rather. “No, no. No I don't, I need help.”

“You can't rely on me for everything, you need to push yourself up, kick, Mr. Diaz!” Kreese let go, and Miguel went under again.

“Kick! Don't be afraid! You are only held down by your fear!”

Kreese’s orders were little more than muffled shouting. Miguel could see him if he glanced up, looking foreboding peering over the ledge of the pool, even more intimidating under three feet of water and through his blurry vision.

He was pulled up again, by his arm. "This is rather disappointing, I expected better of you." 

Kreese's level of composure made Miguel's sense dread climb noticeably higher.  _Why_ _wasn't he taking this seriously?_

Miguel gasped out, and breathing felt as if he were aspirating fire ants instead of the humid air around them. His nose burned from the chlorine. “Please  _nomoreI'lldie._  Seriously– _please."_

“You'll die when and only if you let yourself be weak. Kick! I'm not pulling you up again!”

"Nonono–" 

Miguel counted down, gave himself 3, 2, 1, until he was under again, kicking and moving his bound arms up and down as if any of it was enough to displace the water and propel him up. 

His lungs ached. His legs wanted to give out, so tired of of all the kicking.

“Do you want to drown?" 

 _I don't want to drown._ He thought.  _I can't, he wouldn't let me, would he? Even for a little bit?_

 _I don't want to drown_!

His lungs were still burning and he needed to try, at the very least, to not fucking drown.

All that kicking culminated to a rhythm, steady enough to move, inch by inch until there was less water above his head, until he could hear Kreese clearly, shouting at him to move, to kick.

He arched his neck up, head breaching the surface.

The water was lapping at the corners of his eyes, but he could breathe.

“Keep going, Mr. Diaz!”  

It was easier when he could breathe again. His legs still ached, but his lungs no longer burned for air he couldn't get, his heart was beating hard, but not suffocating him under his own panic.

“Excellent!”

Miguel smiled in his earnest, carelessly spitting the water that leaked into his mouth. He was so happy with the realization that he did it, the preceding time that ticked by a testament to his willpower.

When Kreese declared it quarter-to 2, some thirty additional gruelling minutes of kicking and floundering away in the cold water, the euphoria started to ebb away; by then he's nearing complete exhaustion, one too many brushes with actually going under for too long and passing out while still underneath.

“Sensei?”

He could see Kreese smile down at him. “You're doing good, Diaz.”

“I'm getting really tired, let me come out, please.”

He paddled over to the side, bound hands outstretched in front of him. “Sensei…”

Kreese reached out for him, but not to help him out, only to push on his chest until Miguel drifted further from the edge. “Keep going.”

Miguel tried to let himself float, tilting his head up when the water came up to his jaw.

“Tired...” He breathed.

Kreese crouched by the edge, staring Miguel in the face. “Of course you're tired.”

“You've gotta let me out now, I've been doing this–” Miguel sputtered a little, losing the energy to crane his head back so much. “For nearly an hour...”

“And, I'm very proud of you,"

God, he spoke slowly. Fragments of sentences that should've been whole, all while Miguel tried to meet his eyes, legs moving weakly below him.

“But you don't always get to rest, just because you're tired. In the real world you don't get to rest every time you get a little tired, you push through.”

“But–”

“You want to be stronger?”

Miguel frowned instantly, “Yes, but–” Kreese started to speak again, but Miguel interjected. “This is dangerous!"

“How so? Enlighten me."

“I could die! If I drown from exhaustion; if I can't get air into my lungs because I can't hold myself above water anymore... if I become too tired to float, if I can't move anymore, I'll die!”

He enunciated every negative word as if to drive the point home, a desperate plea to someone who didn't seem to understand his cumulating anxiety. He'd just learned to tread water, approaching a solid hour of near constant movement while his feet felt like more like weights with each passing minute.

“Please…” He finished.

But Kreese moved away from the ledge where Miguel was attempting to float, standing up to full height as Miguel's eyes struggled to remain on him. For a moment, he wondered if he might leave him here, alone.  

“I believe in you Mr. Diaz, just keep going." 

Miguel could've cried. He flung his head back in frustration, wrists creating ripples in the water as they came down in front of him, hard enough to create a loud dip under the water. He stiffened his body, vertical and once again pulled upwards by only his legs.

“What if–” He nearly choked, more over-chlorinated, drivlets of water that burned their way down his throat. “What if I can't?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like this? Would you like to request your own from me? 
> 
> Inbox me @gia-is-online on Tumblr, and you can either pick from the list here [https://gia-is-online.tumblr.com/post/185677985037/angstfluff-prompt-list], or send me your own, and I will write a drabble/ficlet based on it, to all your specifications!


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